Rematch: The Romantic
by blacktop
Summary: Both John Reese and Carl Elias know only one way to play the game: attack. To extricate themselves and Joss Carter from a grim predicament, the two men meet for a high-stakes match in which all their lives hang in the balance. This story is a sequel to Castle Long.


_Author's note: In the history of chess, the Romantic Era was a time when all players attacked and sacrificed. If a sacrifice was offered, it was considered cowardly not to take it. A romantic chess player is one who relishes attacking and sacrificing. The action in this story follows directly on that of _Castle Long_, a story in which Carter and Elias confronted some of the tough realities of their predicament._

"Our gallant Rook has arrived, I see."

Carl Elias craned his head slightly to the left so that he could peer over the shoulder of Joss Carter to watch her vigilante champion charge across the room towards them.

"In a hurry, as always."

They were seated in solitary splendor at a square table toward the rear of the Indian restaurant. Shafts of pale Sunday morning light invaded the cheery dining room, filtered by golden lettering on the plate glass window looking out to the deserted street. He approved of the restaurant's clashing red and yellow décor: garish excess worked well in this setting.

Even though his companion's black shirt and jeans combined with her solemn expression to cast a funereal air over the breakfast table, he was in a decidedly celebratory mood.

Keeping her eyes on the snowy table cloth, Carter had said only a few words as they ate, silently pouring out tea twice as he drained his cup with gusto. She seemed tired, perhaps dejected, her gaze clouded and downcast as she manipulated the silverware. She never met his eye at all.

He found it hard to feel depressed, however.

Just the night before, thanks to Detective Carter's daring manoeuvre, he had escaped certain death at the hands of an impromptu execution squad of Russian thugs and inept police scum.

Her lightening raid had rescued him, confounded his rivals, and guaranteed that he would continue to guide the criminal enterprises of his city for the foreseeable future.

He was her prisoner, certainly. Her locking him in the kitchen food pantry for the night had left no doubt on that score. And of course, five hours on the hard linoleum floor with only a pillow and a scratchy blanket was profoundly uncomfortable.

But compared to the nasty alternative, the narrow pantry was far and away the finest accommodations he had ever enjoyed.

So while he was hardly jolly, Elias was quite content to remain Carter's prisoner for the time being, pending a discussion on how to get them both out of the messy bind she had created with her wild move.

This shabby little Indian restaurant in an out of the way corner of the city made for an excellent jail right now. He was warm, dry, well-fed, and most importantly of all, hidden from his enemies.

Re-grouping for the next attack was inevitable, but that could wait for a while, he had decided.

The plates between them held remnants of the vegetarian breakfast cooked by their doughty hostess, Mrs. Soni.

Resplendent in a sari of deep burgundy silk, she had patiently explained to him that the meal was one usually prepared for children – thick savory crepes of rice and wheat flour called _dosa_ cut into cubes and cooked with onions, tomatoes, and green bell peppers in sesame seed oil.

The results were so delicious he had eaten two large servings.

He knew the old woman expected him to feel insulted by the infant food, but in truth he was simply happy to resolve his gnawing hunger this morning. Mrs. Soni was far more honest than any prison guard at Rikers and her cooking was first-rate, so he had no complaints about his present arrangements.

Though Carter had turned her head toward the door at his announcement of John's arrival, she didn't seem surprised. Elias wondered if she had phoned John, conferred with him sometime during the night.

When she offered no response to his first salvo, Elias followed up with a more direct probe.

"Well, well. I expected John to appear eventually, but I am pleasantly surprised at the promptness of his visit this morning. Is he always such an early riser, Detective?"

In the absence of any concrete facts he could offer an insinuation and let the expressions cascading over her pretty face tell the tale.

Involuntarily Carter's lips quirked into a minute smile and the pleasure that suffused her features then told Elias all he needed to know: the detective and the vigilante were paired.

This was sure to be highly useful information going forward but Elias set aside the intimate discovery for the moment. Romance was not the most pressing issue on his agenda this morning.

Carter rose from the table to intercept John as he crossed the floor on a straight line for their position. Elias thought John looked particularly intense in the stark light, a focus enhanced by the fierce set of his brow and the tightness of his mouth.

It amused him that John wore a variation on Carter's outfit: black jeans, dark open collared shirt, leather jacket. Did they exchange daily fashion memos or was this just a happy coincidence?

Meeting in the middle of the room, the two only spoke for a minute, John's head lowered, his eyes drilling into hers.

They never touched; their chests remained a professional inch apart, their arms carefully clamped at their sides. But as they leaned toward each other, their postures suggested two planets orbiting within a powerful gravitational field, their bodies slightly swaying in time to a secret shared pulse.

Elias felt he should look away; this private moment was not for him to witness.

When he glanced up again, Carter was walking toward the kitchen door with John's black motorcycle helmet clutched in one hand, his cell and ear piece in the other.

And John was striding in his direction again.

XXXPOIXXXPOIXXX

"What do you want, Elias?"

John had barely taken the seat opposite before he threw down the question.

Now that Elias could clearly see the eyes under the lowered brow, their chilly blue flared like a warning beacon across the table.

But despite the threat in that look, Elias chose to go on the attack. He couldn't help himself really.

"Why, nothing more than to finish this excellent breakfast, John."

Elias kept his tone frothy, letting his head oscillate back and forth as he continued with the banter.

"Mrs. Soni is quite a skilled cook and a delightful hostess too. Or perhaps you already know that. Will you join me? I'm sure she has a plate all ready for you in the kitchen. Shall I call her?"

"No." The exclamation had aspects of a bark, with a touch of feral growl as well.

At this point Mrs. Soni emerged from the kitchen carrying a single cup and saucer on a silver tray. She set the coffee in front of John and glided out of sight without a word of greeting, taking the used breakfast plates with her.

"Ah, black coffee. Just the way you like it I suppose, John. As I said, Mrs. Soni is a marvelously observant hostess, don't you find?"

Elias widened the smile across his face and was gratified to see John squirm in response.

Elias saw how flexing muscles along his jaw caused the stark light to glint off heavy stubble. White mixed in liberally with the black in his beard. To Elias's analytic eye, John's age showed only in this negligible way.

"Perhaps you already know Mrs. Soni, have enjoyed her fine hospitality on more than one occasion. To have two such loyal and talented women at your side is fortunate indeed, John. You are a lucky man."

"Shut up, Elias. Or I will shut your face for you."

The threat was bald, plain. Elias shivered in the force of the blast despite his best efforts to keep still.

But he countered this move, striving always to attack, looking for the initiative. Into his opponent's silence, Elias threw out a deflection.

"And how is your employer, Mr. Crane? It has been several weeks since I last saw him. I hope he is well. Such a compelling adversary. You must tell him that I have been studying up and plan to do even better against him in our next match."

Elias didn't really expect John to reply to this gambit. He knew that small talk, even when tinged by subtle portents of larger strategy, was not this reticent man's specialty.

He also knew that he could gain an advantage by continuing to chatter, the verbal assault acting as a forcing move which might lead John to reveal his intentions before he was prepared to do so.

"The last time we met, I tried to alert Mr. Crane to several sources of impending danger. There is a corrupt force gaining strength in the heart of the police department. I can sense HR gathering power with every passing day. I mentioned this to Mr. Crane, but he seemed preoccupied, even inattentive. I hope nothing is gravely wrong with the _'situation'_ Detective Carter mentioned in yesterday's phone call."

"Don't worry about that, Elias. You are in enough trouble as it is." Though his words were blunt, John seemed taken aback by the turn of conversation.

So Elias took a sip of tea and plunged on.

"Detective Beecher came to visit me too, you know. Such a fine man. Shame how he ended. Had you met him? No? Well, I'm sure our lovely Detective Carter had."

The sudden lift of John's eyebrows at this ploy was almost comical.

Guilt, concern, jealousy, curiosity – all of these emotions seemed to chase across his face in an instant. Elias enjoyed seeing John disconcerted and vulnerable like this.

Elias' intuition told him that this way led to an advantage and he followed up.

"But poor Beecher was doomed from the opening. In chess, a pawn swarm can be a powerful attack if executed with speed and daring. But such a bold move puts those minor pieces at grave risk. It's common that several pawns are sacrificed in the manoeuvre. Beecher, Szymanski – I wonder who else will be lost in the coming conflagration?"

John blinked rapidly as if stammering internally. Elias was gratified to see John's native stoicism unsettled by the prospect of an all-out three sided war between HR, the Russian mob, and his own forces.

_This_ was the bigger picture: the future of the city lay in the balance. He knew it; Carter knew it.

And now he hoped John could carry this urgent message to his employer in a convincing manner. If so, then Elias was certain that Mr. Crane could bring forward a new arsenal in support of his side.

But Elias needed more conventional weapons as well.

"You know, John, I may not get this opportunity again, circumstances being what they are. So let me renew my offer of employment to you. There is a place in my organization for a man of your impressive talents. We can use your singular skills and your courage."

John pursed his mouth in what seemed to be an expression of disgust. But Elias pressed his case despite the flinty glare that confronted him across the table.

"I know how you took out that nest of Irish gangsters last fall. A fine example of how, working together we could clean up this city, eliminating all these retrograde mobsters with their old-fashioned ideas and irrational tribal loyalties."

"I didn't do it for you, Elias." John sounded almost wistful as he said that, his voice fading to a gentle whisper.

"No, you didn't. But you helped me all the same. So I am most grateful for your skilled assistance in that little matter.

"Join me, John. We can bring order and peace to our city. It is a goal I share with Detective Carter, although she may not fully appreciate these common themes in our approach to governance just yet."

Once again the mention of the detective's name caused John to bristle visibly as he leaned forward over the table.

Elias noted how the other man's hands, like sculpture carved from the noblest white marble, lay tensed and ready. Juxtaposed like this, the fine pale flesh next to the white porcelain and the folds of white cloth made a striking still life. A _tableau mort, _perhaps_._

His voice rising to shake off the morbid coinage that drummed in his thoughts, Elias offered his final argument:

"You would be amply rewarded in material terms, of course. But I don't delude myself that this is your primary motivation, John.

"No, for you the real satisfaction would be a psychic one. You will know that you helped defeat formidable threats to our home. The undisciplined Russians and HR's venal cohorts are serious dangers, you must see that. But I'm certain that, with you on our side, success would be assured"

He paused to catch his breath, the brilliancy of his long strategy shining bright in his imagination, a beautiful combination of deep design, analysis, force, and unexpected audacity.

Finally John responded, spitting out his words in short bursts.

"Elias, your idea of a safe city isn't mine. You want to be safe to run your vice rings with complete freedom. Loan sharking, gambling, extortion, prostitution. You want to be free to retaliate against your rivals without interference.

"You want us to turn a blind eye. Ignore everything you do. But that's not happening. Not now. Not ever."

Elias leaned back, letting a grin slowly stretch across his face.

"Why, John, you wound me!"

He clutched his chest in dramatic fashion and chuckled.

"You make it all sound so unsavory when you put it like that. I prefer to think of my business as a marriage of enterprise and control: taming the unruly excesses of human behavior while turning a profit from all those little foibles."

He laughed again and lowered his hands below the table so that he could lean forward into his opponent's space a bit.

But John didn't back away.

XXXPOIXXXPOIXXX

Taking a sip from what must have been lukewarm coffee, John turned the conversation at last from generalities to the immediate problem facing them.

This was the endgame, Elias knew; the final phase that would determine the fate of all three players on the board.

"Look, Elias, you want what you want. But all your pretty plans for world domination aren't going to happen if you are dead. So you need to pay attention if you want to get out of this fix you're in."

"Before you go on, John, may I point out that Detective Carter is also in a bit of a bind. By my calculation she too is squeezed by the lack of viable options."

"She walks away from this clean, Elias. Or there's no deal. No one hears how you escaped those Russians, no one figures out how you got away from the prison guards during that transfer. The only way you have a chance at getting out of this situation is if Carter walks away too. Got it?"

"Understood."

"So here're the options: we could take you back to Rikers…"

Elias interrupted, jovial still:

"True. But then I would be obliged to reveal the intrepid Detective Carter's part in my narrow escape from the Russians. She would face serious charges for that and when I describe her role in your own recent escape, well she would lose her badge and be incarcerated for many years. Not a pretty prospect, John."

He ignored Elias' banter, speaking in a rumbling monotone that commanded attention.

"Or we could let you go. On certain conditions."

"Which are?"

"You never come near this place again. I even hear of you ordering Indian take-out anywhere in the city, I'll kill you. You understand?"

Elias nodded.

"And you never contact Carter again. You never go near her, you never touch her, you never mention her name.

"If you do, I will track you down. I will put you in the ground. No one will ever find you. No one will even remember you ever existed. Do you understand me?"

Elias nodded again, trying to suppress the gagging sensation that rose in his throat.

"And you never speak to anyone about your escape from the Russians."

"Or?" This came out like a wheedling plea, which wasn't Elias's intention.

"Or we spread the word that you have been collaborating with the police and FBI for years. That the cops rescued you because of that collaboration. That you are now under NYPD protection."

"But, but that isn't true! You _know_ it isn't true!" Elias wiped a drop of spittle from the corner of his mouth.

John went on, pounding away with short staccato phrases.

"Doesn't matter what the truth is. If the word is out you're an informant, _that_ becomes your new reality.

"You'll never be able to trust anyone in your outfit ever again, Elias. No one likes a rat. Any of your lieutenants could come gunning for you at any time."

Involuntarily, Elias shifted his eyes to look over his left shoulder. John continued, hammering home the point.

"You'll have the Russians at your front. But you'll have your own men ready to take you out too, as soon as you turn your back."

Elias gripped the hem of the tablecloth and had to consciously relax his fingers to avoid ripping the fabric.

"Does… Does Detective Carter know about this plan?"

At that prompt, a new figure entered the claustrophobic scene, moving on a diagonal line from the kitchen at the rear of the room.

How Carter had glided with such stealth to the table he couldn't imagine. But there she was, taking a seat between the two men, staring at him with those huge liquid eyes.

A slight smile played across her lips.

"Yes, I do, Elias. I suggested it."

She extended her forearms on the white cloth, her brown hands clasped in calm certitude.

"I have a network of C.I.s scattered all over the city. I put the word out about you, your life is over. No way you can fight a rumor: the more you deny it, the faster it spreads."

His head swung between the two adversaries, looking for an opening, seeing none.

"This isn't possible. You can't do this to me!"

Carter elaborated her threat, painting a gruesome picture.

"Tonight. I can make it happen tonight, Elias. I talk with all my little guys out there. They learn you're in bed with the cops, a long-time errand boy for the Feds like Whitey Bulger up in Boston."

As he listened, Carter's voice slipped into the easy drawl of the street.

"And by tomorrow afternoon the whole city knows you're a cooperating informant."

"You can't do this to me."

He was repeating himself, a frail response he knew, but speaking helped him contain the shudder running through his body.

He saw John spread his right hand slightly so that the little finger approached, but did not touch, Carter's left hand.

Never looking at John, she continued coolly, deliberately:

"You know, I don't like letting you back on the streets. You'll go back to doing all those bad things I've been fighting against for years. It isn't the ideal solution, that's for sure. But I'm working on a much longer game here.

"So if you value your life, you'll agree to our terms now.

"What's it going to be, Elias?"

His voice sounded weak, even to himself, as he sought to define the new reality.

"How can I … I mean, how do I know I can trust you?"

John spoke again, an extra measure of menace stiffening his words now.

"You can't know. But you don't have a better move."

It was true, he didn't.

A chilly paralysis seized his limbs, pinning him to the chair for a long minute.

Elias shrugged his shoulders at last, inclining his head in two curt bows of concession to acknowledge the strength of the double attack.

Though John continued to level a penetrating gaze at Elias, Carter turned slightly to look at her vigilante.

A filmy shadow seemed to descend over the room then. Elias wondered if someone had dimmed the lights in the restaurant. Or maybe a passing cloud had obscured the sun.

Elias refused to accept that the visual effect was merely psychological, a false impression proceeding from a troubled mind. But the gray pall did seem to linger as the three sat for many moments in tense silence.

This was not checkmate, he was sure of it. Another round of the game certainly lay ahead. But this stalemate represented a bitter setback that would take him months to recover from.

Then with a sudden swoosh, the kitchen door swung out into the dining room and their hostess shuffled across the floor toward their table. The shadow appeared to lift with her approach.

When she arrived at John's elbow, Mrs. Soni stared at him for several seconds, her face unreadable. Then she uttered a brusque phrase.

"You done here?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Soni. We're done."

John unclenched his fists on either side of the cup and withdrew his hands from the table.

Hitching the burgundy fabric draped over her shoulder, Mrs. Soni picked up John's cup of cold coffee. Elias could hear a faint sloshing as she set the cup on her silver tray.

Then she peered into the empty cup in front of Elias, its bowl mottled with the dregs of limp tea leaves.

She tipped her chin in his direction and intoned the last word like a tolling bell:

"Done."


End file.
